A Fire to be Tamed
by rejerito
Summary: A glimpse of Beckett’s and Mercer’s “night activities” and what’s causing them to to keep unsatisfied. Slash.


**A Fire to be Tamed**

He was waiting in the cool night at the front door like almost every night. He was waiting for him to finish and still at least a part of his hungry lust.  
Mostly it would take him only a few minutes to do it but others he would spent hours in that room. But that was only on seldom ocassions.  
And today was one of the last.

It was always the same. Lord Cutler Beckett would have some drinks late at night and when he was starting to get drunk he would ask his most loyal servant, Mercer, to go find him a whore, sometimes two, to spend the night with and quench part of his lust.  
Only a part because noone could ever compare to his wife, Katherine.  
That bitch. Mercer hated her with all his strenghth. She was the only obstacle between him and Cutler Beckett.  
She had agreed to marry him only to save her mother and maybe even her own self back then when they were about to loose everything.  
She was his wife, yes, but she would never allow him to touch her, not once.  
That stupid bitch. If he were her, he wouldn't hesitate a moment to share his bed and fuck him all night long in every possible way until he wouldn't be able to move even a sole muscle.  
But she was not him. She didn't see her husband the way he did. A man capable to sentence a thousand men to death even as cruel as to send woman and children to the gallows if necessary, but still able to show feelings for one wild woman that would never let him tame her. Not even by force.  
He had suggested him to do so several times but always got the same answer.  
Lord Cutler Beckett would never dare to break her that way nor let anyone harm her in any way. Those who did, ended up finding a horrible agonizing death in a dark alley.  
Cutler Beckett would do anything for her, after all, he loved her, even though he would never say it.  
But Mercer knew better and that's why he hated her the most. That damn woman!  
She was the reason he had to go out every night a find a whore to try to satisfy his master's thirst for flesh. Everynight a different one because none of them could ever fill the emptyness she caused inside of him.  
She was the damn reason for the painful marks on his face. She tried to escape once. He would have been all too glad for her to dissapear if it wasn't for the fact that he knew exactly he would have to search for her, all over the world if necessary, as soon as her husband would find her missing.  
She was smart, that he had to admit, but he was smart too and knew the streets way better than her.  
He found her before she could even leave town.  
He tried to convince her to come back with him but being true to her wild spirit, she had to put up a fight before even considering to give in. Fierce like a lioness she was. Showing her sharp fangs and more than willing to bite and destroy if the ocassion required it. And that's how her lamp collided with his face. It had been painful. Very painful. Nothing could ever compare to the pain that burning oil and broken glass brought to him as they hit his skin.  
She had left him shocked and unable to think for only a moment, a moment she used well to run and escape. But as soon as he came to his senses, he chased after her and caught her a short while later thanks to her corset. The 'bloody thing' as she called it, didn't let her breath properly, else he would never have caught her. And then, in the heat of the moment, he had done the unthinkable.  
He knocked her out without second thoughts and dragged her home. Even the most fearsome animal was harmless if passed out.  
Cutler Beckett had ordered him to be punished for that act. Ten lashes to remind him what would happen if he should ever dare to hurt his beloved Katherine again. The punishment would have been worse if it wasn't for his already bruised face and the fact that he was his most valuable and loyal servant.  
He enjoyed those lashes and wore the scars with pride for it was his master who ordered them to be inflicted. They were a gift of his lover and the memmories of the only time he had bested her.

He liked to remeber this while he waited for him to finnish off those whores and finally get rid of them.  
The Lord would pay them well for their services, too much in his opinion. He would do it for free, Beckett only had to ask for it. Insinuating would be enough. But that never did nor would ever happen.  
The only reason he waited patiently enduring the moans and screams of pleasure was to recreate the whole scene as soon as the whores came out and worked him too. He liked to take them still warm with his fluids. It was the closests he could ever get to have a sexual relationship with his master.  
He would always ask them to repeat exactly what they had done with Beckett in that room but this time he would be the one playing the whore in their coupling. They would always look at him strange but never ask questions as long as they would get payed.  
He soon discovered that Cutler Beckett liked the company of men too and even enjoyed being taken himself from behind.  
Mercer would enjoy the experiences with men the most since it would always be Beckett's cock fucking him with such a fury, tearing him up inside. A pain he would gladly endure if it was inflicted by his master's own flesh. Even if just once.

Mercer would always choose the companions carefully. Always the best looking ones and never the same twice. And if Lord Beckett enjoyed the companion too much and ask for the same one again, they would appear dead in a dark alley, run through a jealous lover's blade, with no winesses left.  
Like what happened to those three black haired whores.  
They looked so much like _her_. So beautiful it almost hurt, because he had to confess she was one of the most beautifull woman he had ever seen.  
Dark wavy manes, perfectly formed curves and those full red lips...  
But they never even nearly matched the defiant fire shinning in her brown eyes. He understood why his master would never find anyone to substitute her. She held a fire within her that threatened to burn everything around her to ashes. Just like the lamp she had hit him with.  
He felt sorry for the girls as he ran them through, they had no fault in looking like her. But he also enjoyed killing them, he always imagined it was her taking her last breath before him.  
And so he would find satisfaction just like Beckett with the whores, at least until they would see _her_ again and feel empty once again.  
At least they did share that same feeling caused by her. A lust that would never be completely satisfied, one longing for her touch and the other for her blood.


End file.
